To achieve that second set of goals, a group gathers most days around two televisions in the House gym to follow a series of DVD workout routines known to late-night infomercial fans as P90X, the "most extreme home fitness training program."

A group of young Republicans are devoted followers of Tony Horton's P90X workout routines. Kelsey Hubbard talks to the celebrity fitness trainer about his workout regimen and putting congressman through their paces in the House gym.

As have thousands of insomniac former couch potatoes, Budget Committee Chairman Paul Ryan, Majority Whip Kevin McCarthy and a crew of young Republicans have taken to the P90X workout routines with an ideological intensity. For the lawmakers, it's a get-tough fitness dogma that mirrors their promises to pump up job growth and chisel away flabby federal programs.

They may think like Gingrich and Reagan, but "we want to look like Tony," says P90X devotee Rep. Jeff Flake (R., Ariz.).

Tony Horton is the tanned, buff fitness guru who created P90X and leads the routines on the DVD. Mr. Horton combined skills as a Hollywood personal trainer and actor to become a "Master of Motivation," blending sayings like "Bring it," with "Man, oh Manischewitz."

Since the Republicans won control, Mr. Horton's been a household word in the House of Representatives.

ENLARGE

Tony Horton with Rep. Kevin McCarthy, who follows the exercise guru's P90X workout program with a crew of young Republicans, at the Capitol.
Office of Kevin McCarthy

Mr. Ryan started on P90X two years ago after two buddies—a Green Beret and a Navy SEAL—recommended it. Mr. McCarthy saw Mr. Ryan doing the workout and asked to join him, as did others. This fall, the new GOP in-crowd strutted its buff stuff on the campaign trail, waking hotel guests with the travel version of the workout—a frenzied mix of jumping, push-ups, pull-ups, weight training and 300 punishing abdominal moves.

The goal of the exercises is to "confuse" the muscles by working different parts of the body each day in a workout that escalates in difficulty. Like much that gains traction in Congress, it's a familiar idea wrapped in new packaging.

This all contrasts sharply with the normal routine in Congress, where extreme fitness isn't first nature. Especially in the grayer, jigglier Senate, some lawmakers walk to floor votes in rocker-bottomed, rump-toning sneakers and call it a workout. The biggest commercial health club on Capitol Hill, Results Gym, boasts 12 members of Congress among its 6,000 members. Most read the newspaper on the treadmill, while their stressed-out staffers jam the yoga classes.

ENLARGE

"I would say it's been a victory to get some of them to take the stairs instead of the elevators," says Brian Moody, the gym's vice president for operations.

Mr. Horton, age 52, may seem alien among this sedentary crew, but his roots are pure pencil-neck. An Army brat, he says he was a classic "98-pound weakling: beat up at the bus stop and my lunch money stolen." He went to theater school, in part to overcome a speech impediment which he describes as "I talked too fast." That proved an asset in his transformation from a flabby, part-time pantomime to tanned-from-a-can late-night pitchman.

"Get your little bucket, my friends, because this routine is X City," Mr. Horton says on one of his ads, which can be translated to mean the routine is so extreme that those following along might vomit. "This is the 'X' in P90X."

Every morning at 6:30, about a dozen lawmakers on the P90X A-list gather toward one end of the basketball court in the no-frills, slightly stinky House gym, located near the Capitol. They drag a series of foam mats behind a makeshift curtain partition, cluster around two TVs on carts and cue up Mr. Horton on DVD. Members of the group change, depending on each lawmaker's schedule, but most regulars are Republicans.

They all do pull-ups on steel bars bolted to the walls, and share a couple of sets of barbells. The growing size of the group requires them to take turns, which slows things down slightly.

The group's unofficial leader is Mr. Ryan, of Wisconsin, the House Budget Committee chairman who delivered the Republican response to the State of the Union address. Other diehards include Mr. McCarthy of California; Reps. Kevin Brady of Texas and Bill Shuster of Pennsylvania; and Rep. Peter Roskam and Mr. Schock, both of Illinois.

Majority Leader Eric Cantor, of Virginia, did the workout on his own, although aides say he no longer does the program.

Wisconsin Rep. Sean Duffy, a newly elected Republican, bought the DVDs after Mr. Ryan appraised his colleague's election-season spare tire. "On the campaign trail, you just turn to flab," Mr. Duffy says. "It was a helluva workout…I couldn't move the next day."

Last year Mr. McCarthy took the videos on the road while he was recruiting Republicans to run for Congress. At least one motel operator called to complain that his jumping shook the floor, but Mr. McCarthy lost 28 pounds in three months, although he says he's added seven since.

North Carolina's Heath Shuler, a former NFL quarterback, is the Democrat who most frequently joins the early-morning workouts. He recently traded P90X for Insanity, a cardio-heavy exercise program from Beachbody LLC, distributors of P90X.

Other Democrats have been in the group, including former Rep. Bart Stupak (Mich.), but he retired. Two others lost re-election bids.

There are signs the workouts could grow into a vehicle for bipartisan, bicameral fitness. "The members' gym is a great place to get to know other members on a human level," Mr. Schock says.

Mr. Horton, who describes his politics as "less liberal than I used to be," has visited the House gym several times to put the politicians through their paces. He says he's never seen a lawmaker pursue a partisan beef during the workouts he leads.

"They're just trying to survive. They hate each other and now they're next to each other in down dog," the yoga position practiced on all fours.

But Mr. Horton's killer calisthenics have yet to lure the highest-ranking Republican in the leadership, Speaker of the House John Boehner. While his colleagues pump iron, Mr. Boehner, a smoker and neat freak, vacuums, takes early-morning walks and rides his bicycle around monuments.

This copy is for your personal, non-commercial use only. Distribution and use of this material are governed by our Subscriber Agreement and by copyright law. For non-personal use or to order multiple copies, please contact Dow Jones Reprints at 1-800-843-0008 or visit www.djreprints.com.